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Ken was an absolute pig-shooter, always sending emails
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I say, "I'm going to be a priest when I grow up". She says, "that's nice dear",
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a darkness which swoops
and becomes;
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Those moments of missing
are further apart
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A trauma of the under-loved;
awash with rage
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so far away
so close to you
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Some would say we had it too good
for way too long
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the buses keep going nowhere
slamming doors on desperate faces
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The troubadour beats and unsteady retreat
from the glory of youth,
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Rain can be the music of life its changing rhythms
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Everytime we talk it gets a little awkward Words keep getting in the way of love
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Waiting for a long, long time for something more
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I know they're out there those plastic gods
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I crawl into your heart
when noboby's watching,
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It's so easy to fall from grace,
back to the mud of other times
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When I started smoking ice I thought that I could stop,
If I became uncomfortable, or started feeling shot.
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there's so much bling in my life
I'm continually mistaking it for diamonds,
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Wilting before the bloom
long before the sun
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Doing the fortnightly short term, long-haul,
up the F4, to Newcastle;
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When I give myself the time to stop and think
I find I don't want to think about much,
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Edging toward wisdom
with the ease of a crippled grasshopper
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In the heat of the evening
the rain came calling
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I am the dog without fleas
the rat without sewer
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